Music of His Mind
by loomweaver
Summary: Canon? Who needs it, silly rabbit, when you can trade it off for entertainment value? Rated T for 'raTed'.


A/N: Don't own anything and all the crap. If you need the specifics, refer to the terms of WTFPL license.

* * *

The Dark Hour.

He named it like that, honoring one of the sayings that rang true in his ears - "it is always darkest just before the day dawneth".

He didn't dread it like he used to during the childhood. The fear went away with years, and now, it was something else. It was a moment, or rather, _an hour_ of reprieve, which he always welcomed.

People were concealed in coffins. Water turned to something akin to blood. It didn't bother him at all. He could - and _would_ - live with that. He could use this hidden time to perfect himself, was it his skill or his wit - it didn't matter to him what exactly, because he enjoyed the break from humanity. Due to this fact, he was regarded as a genius by his teachers - and as an outcast by his peers. He would sometimes roam the street, provided, there was no rain on that particular day. The first time his clothes got drenched with blood, he had a hard time of lying to the manager of the public laundry he frequented during that particular period of time that it was just a dye job gone awry. He breathed with relief, when he moved away, just like he did numerous times before, from that location and had no need to deal ever more with curious eye that manager gave him ever since that accident.

Yet only one thing bothered him. No, it didn't have anything to do with those creatures he _almost_ encountered every time he roamed the streets at night. Monsters, demons, spirits - he didn't have a name for them, and due to some sort of a sixth sense that he possessed, he managed to avoid them each time he noticed one. The only discomfort that the Dark Hour brought him was the fact that anything electrical stopped working during the Dark Hour. And that meant that his only true companion, which was omnipresent on his body, stopped working.

He loved music. It resonated with his personality. It was shocking for him that only a few years ago, the only thing he listened to was mediocre rap and rock. Now, it was completely ridiculous to him how he could make such a blunder, such an oversight. Now, if you said a word about music to him, he would answer with two, three, four - an infinity of genres, artists, composers, albums, sound-a-likes, from orchestral arrangements and classical pieces to acid jazz and rock'n'roll, from pop and hip-hop to industrial techno and all sorts of breakbeat - you name it.

But, as it was already said, music resonated with him. He couldn't live without it. Being unable to listen to it during the Dark Hour was uncomfortable for him. At first, he tried his best to remember his favorite songs and hum them during the darkest time. Seeing as it was a complete hour without them, at first, the songs were forgotten too fast for his liking, the notes that went out of his mouth were all wrong, and he was distraught with the unavailability of the only thing that filled his mind with meaning, emotion, sense, and reprieve. He tried harder and harder, every day, even intentionally neglecting his own music player in favor of strengthening his mind. Until, one day, he abruptly noticed that he didn't hum music at all. Now, the headphones still remained on his head, yet not even a sound leaked out of them, and if you would've gone up to him and tried to listen, you still wouldn't have heard anything. It was inside of his mind, omnipresent, ubiquitous, and he didn't need any sort of contraption to listen, no, _to hear_ the music.

The music of his mind.

* * *

He distinctly remembered the moment when he arrived to Iwatodai Station. His train was a late one, and he instinctively knew what it meant. Strolling past the coffins, he picked up his pace to arrive to the Gekkoukan dormitory as soon as possible. While the walk was a close one, he didn't knew the surroundings well enough to risk wandering around the town an entirety of the night. The music of his mind remained changeless, as he paraded the streets with coffins strewn around here and there.

When he arrived to the dormitory ahead of time - meaning that the Dark Hour didn't end yet, he was tipped off that something strange was going on. There was someone waiting for him at the dorm.

"You're late. I've been waiting a long time for you."

He examined what he saw before him. A child. He was tired and wanted to get it over with already and embrace the blessing of Morpheus as soon as possible, so he took the pen offered by the child and was ready to sign an offered contract, when something occurred to him. He was alarmed with something, or rather, an absence of something. While his player now had no purpose for music, it still had its uses. Like the alarm, which he set for midnight, and that ringed, because of obvious reasons, at the start and at the end of the Dark Hour. He did hear the start alarm, he was pretty sure, thus ensuring that it was in proper working order. And he couldn't have missed the end alarm, which meant that this child was active _during_ the Dark Hour. _And_, he offered a contract with a very vague wording. _And_, it was a _child_ of all people, who offered him this contract, and clearly a creepy one at that.

He put the pen back down on the table, and considered his next words very carefully. He had numerous questions in his head. "Are you affiliated with these monsters?". "Do you know anything about this hour?". "Why weren't you transmogrified into a coffin?". Or maybe even "Why the hell are you in a prisoner robe?". All of these suggestions crossed his head. However, one thing nagged him about this child more than anything else.

"Are you human?"

He expected the child to be taken aback by this statement, whether or not he was indeed an inhuman being. The question remained hanging in the air, until the child reacted with... a smile?

"Well, that's a surprise. It seems you're more perceptive than I expected."

Not human, then. Surprisingly to himself, he didn't feel any fear before the unknown being that stood before him, not at all. Only curiosity.

"Yet, we don't have much time. The Dark Hour will end soon. You need to make your decision."

He thought about child's words for a while. The terms of the contract was, quoting directly, 'I chooseth this fate of mine own free will'.

"...Does it ensue anything beyond the contract's exact wording, in letter and spirit?"

"That... I cannot say. But I can ensure you that no conditions would be enforced on you, even if you're willing and moreso if you're not. You, indeed, choose this fate of your own will, and we promise not to interfere."

"_We?_"

"It's of no consequence, not now and not ever. The only thing that is, well, is the signing of this contract."

"..."

Was there anything in his life that he could've regretted losing? The only such thing was his mind, and if he lost his mind, well, he would be as good as dead, so he didn't particularly care. Once you're dead, he thought, well, you're dead. Yet he could achieve so much more. It was worth it simply due to the new experience he would acquire. And something inside of him - his mind, his heart, his _soul_, beckoned him to accept it. He had no qualms about his decision. He picked the pen back up and put his signature on the contract.

"A wise choice. And a courageous one, too."

"How will I contact you?"

The child's remark distracted him only for a moment, but that was enough for a quick disappearance act with neither smoke, nor mirrors.

The silence, both outer and inner, due to him making a conscious effort to withhold the music of his mind for the conversation, was suddenly broken by the alarm in his ears, which signified the end of the Dark Hour.

That was a start of the young man's journey.

* * *

The memory of a first human he encountered in the dorm was still fresh. Her words still rang in his ears, as though it was only yesterday or even not half an hour ago.

"Was everything okay on your way here?"

The way she asked this question, carefully weighted, yet inquiring, made him suspicious. Was she too unaffected by the Dark Hour? _"Yes, inescapably"_, his subconsciousness answered immediately. The child told him that someone was coming _before_ the ending of Dark Hour. But that brought another question. Was she inhuman too? If so, could he trust her? "_While everything in her behavior screams about her human nature..._"

He knew better than to trust outer appearances.

"There was nothing ...unusual on my way here." Yes, the half-truths worked the best. "Do you know that boy?"

"Which boy?"

So she wasn't affiliated with the child. But innocence of one crime didn't mean the innocence of all crimes.

"...Nevermind."

When he went to sleep that day, he earnestly desired to deal with the consequences of the supposed contract as soon as he could.

And the world obeyed.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room, where you're always an awaited guest."

He wouldn't leave it without answers.

* * *

"And you say that I possess it. The Wild Card, I mean."

"Indeed, my dear young man." The owner of the Velvet Room was most generous both in explanations and hospitality. His attendant, or rather, assistant, while remaining mostly silent, was a natural addition to the atmosphere of the room. "It is a most unique ability, and rare at that too."

Something struck him wrong. Very wrong. He tried to figure out what it was, but to no avail. So he moved on to another point that bothered him.

"I'd like to ask something completely different. What is your relation to that boy? And why do you have the contract which I've given to him?"

"Ah, now, you, young man, as you've already realized, the Velvet Room is a place on the border of dream and reality, and while it's inherently connected to your mind, it's also unquestionably real. You can even say that it transcends the realms both of dream and reality. That boy, as you call him, however, is different, for he is a part of you, and the reality of his existence is inescapable."

"_That didn't answer my question at all_", he thought, but he didn't pry. They chatted for hours, discussing the finer details of what the contract ensued for both sides.

After the young man left this fantastical place, the assistant addressed her master with a question.

"Why did you evade his question, Master Igor? He asked you directly, and yet you still answered with another of your usual cryptic comments."

"Now is not the time. While the Death indeed resides inside of his soul, this is something he needs to find out for himself."

* * *

The first day of the school was vastly uneventful, but he could deal with that. After all, the master of the Velvet Room provided him a few slip-ups he could work on. Igor's words were that 'the gift of the Wild Card is very rare among the Persona users, the odds that Persona user will be a potent Wild Card user are close to nil', and it insinuated that the power of Persona wasn't unique at all. Easily connecting Persona and the Dark Hour in his mind, he remembered the only three other beings of questionable humanity that he suspected of being able to perform freely during the Dark Hour - the creepy child that Igor called Pharos, and his schoolmates - Yukari Takeba and Mitsuru Kirijo. He wasn't an amicable person, yet he understood the value of information and he always made it a point to remember all of the details of unusual happenings in his life. Thus, he decided to investigate them further as much as he could - personalities, various facts, connections - everything.

And that brought him to the current situation.

The rooftop was desolate, illuminated with a sickly green moonlight. 'Shadow', the Takeba girl called it. Well, that knowledge didn't help her to defeat it in slightest. Yes, he was standing off against one of those monsters he almost encountered in the past. In past, he always avoided confrontation, but he couldn't do so now. Not because he was scared for his life, for he was not afraid of it and accepted it as an old friend. Not because he was curious, and even though he was, that wouldn't be a reason enough. And definitely not because he couldn't bring himself to abandon the girl and run, for he could. The only reason he would not allow further existence of this 'Shadow' was that its sole presence distorted the music of his mind. And that, he wouldn't withstand.

The familiar child, which suddenly appeared out of nowhere, wordlessly encouraged him to use a strangely gun-like device. He remembered Igor's words. 'You will be ...provided with means of summoning your Persona', such were the words of the master of the Velvet Room. The word seemed to form instantly in his mind, when he pointed the device to his forehead, and it nearly escaped his lips, when he suddenly stiffened and chose to remain silent and motionless for a moment, engaging in a stare contest with the masked creature.

"...Heh. I was never a fan of Russian Roulette. One out of six? More like _six_ out of six."

His finger pulled the trigger once, twice, thrice, making an illusionary cloud of floating glass shards surround him. He felt surging might, and when another creature, similar to this 'Shadow', yet so vastly different, appeared beside him, suddenly, he had a feeling, a feeling of rightness.

"**I am thou...**"

"...And thou art I."

He recognized the doll-like creature that was his persona even without the introduction that followed. Orpheus, the master of strings, the legendary musician, poet, and prophet, who was able to charm all living things and even stones with his music. Now, wasn't that appropriate, huh?

But... something still nagged him at the back of his mind. Was this how Persona supposed to work? If he had Orpheus, the most compatible creature in the world, the fragment of his very soul, why would he need the Wild Card? What was its power? Why did Igor describe Persona in such a limited fashion? Fire and ice, wind and electricity, light and darkness - it was limited, too limited. Orpheus didn't carry any of these concepts, so why?

He didn't notice the drain on his stamina that Persona provided, until exhaustion suddenly overburdened him to his limits.

And he collapsed into a dreamful sleep.

But the battle was already won.

* * *

When he came to, he was greeted with a view of a completely void and barren plain. It was like he was standing in a sea of nothingness, drowning and floating in it at the same time. And there was only one other being that was present in this desolate landscape. He remembered the name that Igor told him.

"Pharos..."

"So, I figure it was our mutual friend who imparted this name to you?"

"Where are we?"

"You should be at least equally familiar with this place, as I am. After all, you're its owner."

Something clicked inside of his mind.

"Persona... 'the mask, which we bear on the visage of our souls'..."

"Indeed. As you can see, Igor didn't lie to you, when he described the Fool Arcana as something akin to zero. True, you have nothing at all. Your soul's potential is vast, yet it is void and pristine. Yet, in right conditions, it can mature, it can evolve into something more."

"...Who are you?"

"Why don't you find out yourself? After all, I'm but a guest in this place. If the circumstances were different, you would've enlightened me about myself. However, if the circumstances were different, you, most likely, wouldn't have come to this place at all."

The answer came naturally to his mind, like it was something he always knew, yet forgotten at some point. He wasn't surprised, and, deep down, he already knew who this being was, and that he was one of the reasons he was so comfortable with the thought of an eternal sleep.

"Death..."

The young man stood still. An overwhelming quiet filled the empty landscape of his soul. And yet, something felt different. Something shifted in his stance, something changed the look in his eyes. He addressed the death incarnate with a single word.

"...Hey." Interrupted silence fell once again only to be broken once again by young man's words. "You know, I thought deeply about it. I mean, what's with the Rider-Waite deck of tarot cards theme? What's with all of the allusions to Jungian psychology? What is a Wild Card, if your Persona literally represents your soul? It doesn't make any sort of sense. Major Arcana, minor Arcana, mythological beings that carry most various concepts, yet that are limited to measly elemental magic?" His face hardened, and the voice became confident and commanding. "I refuse to believe in this." A small chuckle escaped his lips. It was small enough to be considered dismissible, yet it grew, from the small chuckle to an intimidating roaring laughter. It completely overshadowed the slight changes that occurred with the landscape. A small trickle of sounds started, quiet, completely hidden by the young man's laughter. But it grew, ever so slightly.

And then he fell silent, as abruptly as he broke the silence earlier. His next words were calm and had an air of tranquility.

"I don't need a mask for my soul. I am who I am. Integral, whole, definite. There is only one concept that my mind carries, and that is not death. That, I'm sure of. And so, you're not welcome here."

The child's stance shifted subtly into an aggressive one right before transforming back into Death's original form. Even though it was weakened, it still had enough power to reap, and that's what it intended to do with the young man's soul. Yet he did only one thing in response to the death incarnate's actions. He smiled, with a beautiful and full of crystal clear insanity slasher smile. His next words were said with a tone of tranquil madness.

"This is it, my dear friend. When this body wakes up, it will have only one resident. Will you be able to reap the music of my mind? Or is Death a hunter unbeknownst to its prey?"

* * *

A visible cringe distorted the face of almost omniscient owner of the Velvet Room. His assistant had her experience with such occasions, albeit rarely, but that was enough to recognize the look on his face.

"What is happening, Master Igor?"

"This... was unplanned for, Elizabeth."

* * *

The master of strings materialized by his side. 'I am thou, and thou art I' - these words rang true like never before. Orpheus was not a simple mask like Igor said, no, he was representation of the young man's very soul. A trickle of sounds filled the landscape, distorted, yet carrying a unique tune. It didn't come from Orpheus' lyre, instead, its origin was the desolate field itself, which carried the melody of his spirit. But the master of strings had no role in the upcoming conflict, and thus, he was content with just witnessing the fight of the young man against the death incarnate.

Quiet filled the void plain, not unlike the quiet that appeared right before the storm.

Without a signal of any kind, the sounds of battle suddenly filled the barren landscape.

Young man's strikes were fast and precise, accentuated by the beats that melody carried, and its solos rejuvenated him, whittling away the fatigue and injury out of his body. It was strange how he still recognized himself as his human form inside of his own mind. Here, he could be anything he wanted, yet the sole appearance that he assumed was completely material, and one of a simple human. But that was enough for him. The sounds of music augmented his abilities, and the young man brought destruction in his wake. Starting from the same sort of physical and elemental assault that witnessed from Orpheus in action, he shifted towards the style that suited him most - using pure raw energy, the power of which was so much more than that of simple material interactions. It was full of color, which was changing constantly, and it expanded and contracted in rhythm with music. The only thing that restricted his power were the limits of his imagination, and, well, let's say that his imagination wasn't really restrained.

And not after long, he stood over the defeated body of his opponent, which was whittling away into nothingness, erasing all traces of its previous existence.

The master's of strings inquiry of the young man wasn't needed. After all, they were one and the same. But it still was compelled to ask this question.

"**So, what are we going to do next, when we wake up from this dream?**"

Its master's, no, its bearer's response was simple in its nature.

"What else there is to do? Spread the music of my mind, of course."

Orpheus smiled contently at these words.

* * *

A/N:

And... done.

Tried something different for a change. Yeah, I know, dramatic ellipses too much. That, and trainwreck of grammar too.

Regarding 'I'm a Pirate', I already mentioned that my studies will interfere with writing for some time, didn't I? So don't expect anything at all until July or even later. And, frankly, I have a writer's block, because Halkeginia is too empty world to fill. I prefer working with already existing objects and expanding interactions rather than thinking of completely new things that don't fit in existing universe.

Also, working on a new project, so it may take a while.

Hope you enjoyed the story.

UPDATE: Seems like something was wrong with formatting, so I fixed it. I apologize for the inconvenience.


End file.
